


when I'm down on my knees (you're how I pray)

by Kittendiamore



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, lawyer berenger, sugar baby/ wannabe model ancel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittendiamore/pseuds/Kittendiamore
Summary: The man pauses thoughtfully. "You can tell me what's wrong over lunch," he says, "and we can try to find a solution. If you want."Ancel gives the man a more considering look. He's young, only about ten years older than Ancel himself and- and he's wearing a Rolex. Ancel feels himself taking a step closer. "If you wouldn't mind," he says. "I'd be so grateful."





	when I'm down on my knees (you're how I pray)

Ancel hasn't gotten where he is in life without having the ambition to make things better for himself. He's climbed the ladder for success with bloody nails (metaphorically, his nails are perfectly manicured) and he refuses to let anything stand in his way. But when things go wrong, they tend to do so in rapid succession.

"You've lost my luggage?" he repeats.

"Well," the service desk woman says, looking less patient for every continued moment she has to spend speaking with him. "It looks like you didn't properly take off the stickers from your last trip. So our scanners read the wrong barcode and sent your things to-"

"Thailand," Ancel finishes for her. His last trip was to Thailand, two decadent months at the State tower in Bangkok. He'd barely left the hotel except to shop. It had been magical. "This is Paris," he adds, unnecessarily.

"Yes," The woman agrees. He can't help but feel like she's getting off on his misfortune. Ancel memorises the name off her badge so he can make a scathing complaint later. He needs his bags, like immediately. He'd made the frankly terrible decision to dress comfortably for his extended flight and get changed at the airport. Now he's stuck in a simple white shirt and black jeans. Both are designer, but still - it's plain. He's not even wearing eyeliner.

The next chapter in his own personal series of unfortunate events comes when his phone finally turns back on. He has two voice messages, both from Louans, his current lover.

"Baby, there's been a change of plans. Paris has been cancelled. Don't board the plane," says the first.

"Look, Ancel," the second one starts, and Ancel has a moment of surprise that Louans actually remembers his name. "My wife found out about everything. I have to sort this out. Don't try calling."

He tries the credit card Louans gave him in the nearest ATM. Cancelled. Ancel is in a foreign country, with no luggage, no one to meet him, and about forty dollars in his wallet. He doesn't even have a return ticket to exchange - Louans hadn't known how long their rendezvous was going to last and so hadn't bothered.

Okay, Ancel thinks. It's not the end of the world. He still has his profile on the sugar-daddy app open, he'll just find a parisian who'll trade a plane ticket home for a night or two.

He unlocks his phone just in time for it to go flat. His charger is in his luggage. Ancel closes his eyes for a long moment and somehow finds the strength to breathe. "Fuck," he says, and he hates the way his voice sounds. Lost.

The phone slips out of his hands and clatters on the floor. Ancel opens his eyes and bends to pick it up, but someone beats him to it.

"You dropped this," The man says, holding it out. He's smiling politely. His hair is dark, his eyes are dark, and his jacket is dark.

Ancel takes the phone. Maybe he should sell it. It's the latest iPhone and it's not like Louan is going to keep paying for its usage. "Thank you," Ancel says.

The man's brow furrows. His English is exceptional, especially with the thick french accent. "Are you alright?"

Ancel waves his arms uselessly. "I don't know," he spits out, honestly.

The man's eyes drift down to the phone in Ancel's hand. The screen is cracked. Fantastic. "Is there someone you need to call? I can lend you my phone."

Ancel laughs. "No," he says. "No, I have no one to call." What friends does he have? He doubts any past lovers will take kindly to him crawling back after dropping then unceremoniously for something better.

The man looks concerned. Ancel wants to tell him to fuck off. His life is better now; he doesn't deserve the pitying looks anymore.

"Do you," the man pauses thoughtfully. "You can tell me what's wrong over lunch," he says, "and we can try to find a solution. If you want."

Ancel gives the man a more considering look. He's young, only about ten years older than Ancel himself and- and he's wearing a Rolex. Ancel feels himself taking a step closer. "If you wouldn't mind," he says. "I'd be _so_ grateful."

"I'm Berenger," the man says.

 _You can call me anything you want_ , Ancel thinks. "Ancel," he says, instead.

 

-

Things Ancel learns about Berenger over lunch - he's thirty, a human rights lawyer, and he likes plain croissants and black tea. In other words, he's the most boring man Ancel has ever met.

Still, Ancel finds himself telling Berenger of the tragedy that has occurred. The man purses his lips when Ancel brings up Louan's wife. "He should have told you he was married," he says.

"He did," Ancel replies, surprised into honesty.

Berenger's frown increases.

"It's just frustrating," Ancel says, in the end. "I thought. I thought this was it, you know? That my life was finally taking shape. Louan was going to take me to the hotel where all the models for Fashion Week stay, and make introductions, and I was going to- to be something. Now, I'm back where I've always been - a nobody with nothing."

Berenger looks at him for a long moment. "I'll buy you a flight home."

"I," Ancel says. He needs to close this deal. He leans forward. Takes Berenger's hand, "would be very," his voice dips, "grateful."

Berenger pulls his hand back and looks - insultingly - horrified. "That's not why I'm doing this. You shouldn't- that isn't- You're not-"

"Yes," Ancel says, frustrated and a little embarrassed. "Please, tell me what I should be doing. I'm sure you know exactly what it's like to be dirt poor. No one does anything nice for nothing. Skip the morality play and just tell me what your price is."

Berenger gives him an odd look. "This is normal for you," he says.

"I do what it takes to get by," Ancel tells him.

Berenger is quiet for a very long moment. "I don't want anything from you," he says, finally. "But maybe I can help you."

"How so?" Ancel asks.

"I represented one of the models recently against the attempted hostile takeover of his company by his uncle. He gave me tickets to Fashion week as a thank you."

Ancel has heard about this. "You know Laurent de Vere?"

"Yes," Berenger says. "I can introduce you."

Laurent de Vere is one of the most renowned men in the fashion world. He's not only the heir of the Veretian fashion label, but he's also one of the world's most sought after models. His most recent endeavour was a joint collection with the somber Akielon Tailors - a venture most had scoffed at but had ended up becoming one of the most revered collections in modern times. Artes Fall/Winter collection 2018 is the perfect mix of old-fashioned simplicity and the extravagant androgynous dramatics that are synonymous with Vere. Ancel would sell his kidneys just to touch the fabric.

"I," Ancel says, breathless. "I have nothing to wear."

"I'll help you," Berenger says.

 

-

Berenger gets Ancel an adjoining room in the hotel he's staying at - The Varenne - in the penthouse suite. "I have work to do," Berenger says, blankly watching Ancel go through the mini bar fridge with awe. There's an actual bottle of Moet in there.

Ancel looks up at him. "You're going?"

"Yes," he says, and then he gives Ancel his platinum credit card and tells Ancel to buy something nice to wear.

"What's the limit?" Ancel asks.

Berenger shrugs as if he truly doesn't know. "Probably less than a car."

Ancel snoops through Berenger's belongings while he's gone. There's no evidence that he's a serial killer, and plenty of evidence that he's the most fashionably plain man in the world. His outfits all look identical.

 

-

Ancel spends the rest of the morning shopping, and then in the evening, when he thinks Berenger will be back soon, he puts on the gauziest white top that money could buy and pretends to fall asleep in his bed.

Berenger comes back and pauses in the doorway for a very long moment, while Ancel makes a production of waking up.

"Oh," he says, feigning surprise and delight. His shirt is sliding off one shoulder. It's see-through enough for his nipples to be hinted at. "You're back."

"You’re in the other room," Berenger says, approaching his suitcase and going through it. "I'm only back for a clean shirt. I have a dinner to attend."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ancel offers.

Berenger looks up at him. He's holding a plain button up in one hand that looks almost the same as the one he's already wearing. "If you want," he says.

 

-

Dinner turns out to be a business affair. Apparently Berenger also runs a breeding stable that sells the highest quality of horses. He's renowned for refusing to deal with race horses, and only sells to people who can guarantee the proper treatment of his animals. Apparently he has a lot of opinions on the ethical treatment of animals, as well as human rights.

Berenger is also entirely too plain-speaking and straight forward to actually maneuver himself a good deal. While he's talking to the owner of some prestigious stable, Ancel talks to his wife. He compliments her earrings and tells her that he's been looking forward to meeting her. "Berenger said you were truly formidable," he says.

She turns out to be a painter, and Ancel doesn't know much about art but he knows enough to bluff his way through a conversation with her. She's smitten with him by the end of it, and when they leave dinner, Ancel has no doubt that she's going to give Berenger the best deal possible.

"That was," Berenger says, sounding happily surprised, "very good."

Ancel grins.

 

-

It turns out that austere Berenger somehow gets invited to a lot of parties and events, and he goes to all of them with the intention to make business connections, or deals, or to just gather contributions for some charity he's the chairman of.

After that first dinner, Ancel is invited to attend all of them as his plus one. Where Berenger gets into boring conversations, Ancel thrives. He talks to everyone of importance, charms men and women alike, and does it in a way that reflects well on Berenger. At the end of every night, Berenger has twice the support he set out to get, and Ancel gets to spend the next day on a date with his so far limitless credit card.

At one dinner, Berenger keeps attempting to speak to a very busy man and Ancel takes it into his own hands to make a distraction. He pulls one of the wives attending into a dance, sensual enough to take the attention of almost everyone in the room. Ancel has always had a talent for physical things - dance and performing. His local community centre growing up hadn't had the teachers or repoire for Ancel to move into it professionally though.

In the final turn, when Ancel dips the woman, a dark beauty clad in an actual diamond necklace, he makes eye-contact across the room with Berenger. He's making conversation with his intended target, and yet he still happens to look directly at Ancel in the moment that Ancel seeks him out. Then Ancel is righting the woman and she's thanking him, and the moment is over except his face is flushing and he doesn't understand why.

 

-

"That was amazing," Berenger says. "How did you learn to do that?"

"I can twirl fire as well," Ancel says. He doesn't know why - he hates remembering his past as a street performer. "There were too many smoke detectors in the room for that, though."

Berenger is at the room's safe, unlocking it. Ancel could figure out the code just by the different tones each number makes, but he's too happy to pay that much attention.

Berenger is laughing, and then he's pulling a jewellery case out of the safe and handing it casually to Ancel. "Thank you," Berenger says, then he's moving away again, to get changed for bed.

Ancel opens the case. It's a necklace, gaudy and sparkling. Emerald and white gold. "Is this," Ancel breathes, "Bulgari?"

"It is," Berenger says, ducking back out of the room in the plainest brown pajamas known to man. He sounds fond. "Thank you," Berenger says again, as if he's the one who's been given a gift.

It's from the latest collection. It must have cost an arm and a leg. Ancel can hardly breathe. "Let's fuck," Ancel says, unthinkingly. His heart is beating very fast.

Berenger's smile turns rueful. "That's not necessary," he says, and then he says goodnight and the door to his room is closed.

Ancel tries not to feel like he's been locked out on the wrong side.

 

-

The first day of fashion week, Ancel dresses himself in the nicest silks and faux furs that money can buy, and then puts on his new necklace. He looks radiant. He knows he does. He can't stop smiling. He goes down to the lobby by Berenger's side, but they’re side-tracked while Berenger has a conversation with the receptionist.

"What was that about?" Ancel asks. He doesn't understand french, but he could see the fondness in the receptionists eyes when Berenger had spoken to her. Maybe Ancel never had a chance after all.

"She had a baby last month," Berenger says. "I was making sure she didn't want more time off."

"What, you're going to fight a hotel chain for better maternity leave next?"

Berenger gives him an odd look. "No," he says. "It's my hotel."

 

-

What Berenger failed to mention, when speaking of his tickets to Fashion Week, was that they were actually backstage passes. They're let into the area where Vere's most beautiful models are preparing to take the stage.

"Berenger!" comes the voice of Laurent de Vere. His signature blonde hair is pinned into a braided crown. He's wearing an asymmetrical tunic that is just short of scandalous, and a gold choker. All the models are wearing the chokers. It's a political statement of some sort that Berenger had explained to Ancel, but Ancel had only heard blah blah in captivity blah blah Vere blah blah.

"Laurent," Berenger says. "It's nice to see you."

"I'm surprised you came," Laurent replies.

Berenger smiles and then gestures. "Ancel wanted to come. It's his dream, apparently."

Ancel suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. Laurent de Vere is looking at him, consideringly.

"Alright," Laurent says. "Let it never be said that I don't pay my debts. You can sit over there." He points to a dressing table.

"Are you sure?" Berenger asks.

"Why not?" Laurent says. "I'm taking time off after this, for my honeymoon. I might as well find a new face."

"I thought Nicaise would fill that spot," Berenger says. The youngest de Vere brother.

"Not until he's seventeen," Laurent says. Then he looks at Ancel again. "You're a model, right?"

"Yes," Ancel says. He's aspiring, at least. 

"Go get in the chair, then," he says, as if this is mundane rather than the most incredible thing to ever happen to Ancel. "I'll find something to fit you."

 

-

After the show, after Ancel gets to walk on the fucking runway at Paris Fashion Week, he meets back up with Berenger. He's still wearing the gold makeup he'd been put in, and the elaborate curls. Laurent had even shrugged and let him keep the gold choker.

"You'll have to fly back home for a week or two," Berenger says. "While we sort out your visa to model over here."

"Berenger," Ancel says. He's breathless and elated and he doesn't know what he's saying. "It is the greatest tragedy of my life that you're straight."

"What," Berenger says.

"I want you," Ancel says, honestly, "more than I've ever-"

"I'm not straight," Berenger says.

"Oh." Ancel pauses. "Then you just don't want..." Me.

"I," Berenger says. He's looking at Ancel's lips. Bright red lipstick. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Oh, darling," Ancel says. He takes a hold of Berenger's stupid boring brown coat and pulls him forward until they're flush. "No-one takes advantage of _me_."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr [@Nikanndros](https://nikanndros.tumblr.com/). Title from Religion by Lana Del Rey.


End file.
